


The Life of a Merlin

by Saquira



Series: The Pillars of Albion [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Druids, Female Merlin, Gen, Magic, Magic-Users, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 18:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9250301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saquira/pseuds/Saquira
Summary: Merlin loses her mother and home both at 13, and it changes everything. The raptor whose form she takes has no time for grief or errant thoughts, and she grows up in the air. She grows up a predator without roots and a wild spirit that no one can cage.





	1. 690 AD

**Author's Note:**

> The whole Pillars of Albion ‘verse was born from one thought; what would have happened if Merlin lost her mother in her early teens, learned how to actually turn into a bird and didn’t actually meet Arthur until he’d already become king? The Life of a Merlin is a series of snippets from Merlin’s life in this ‘verse, and I intend to separate the different characters’ lives into different stories. Since most of the chapters are probably going to be pretty short, I'll be posting updates daily when I have something written.
> 
> To be able to actually keep an orderly timeline of the ‘verse I’ve tried to at least specify years that the events took place. Lady Helen arrives in Camelot in the autumn of 694 AD.

**690 AD**

“ _Go. Survive. Live, and know that I love you with all my heart_.”

Smoke curls into the sky as a poisonous snake and her mother’s last words echo hollowly in her mind as she scrambles forward over the blood-stained paths of the village in which she’s lived her whole life. She heads for the forest as people scream in terror around her, as fire roars ever higher and steel meets no resistance before slicing through flesh. She ignores the fear, buries it with her grief in the pit of her stomach and keeps her narrow focus on the forest as the chaos continues to rage around her. She ignores the sticky blood that cover her hands, the clear memory of the wooden pole through her mother’s stomach. (Later. There’ll be time for thinking later. When the men are gone and the village is quiet and nothing remains to be heard but her own thoughts.)

The hand that takes a hold of her arm and spins her around comes like a flash of lightning from a clear sky. Her narrow-minded focus has not let her see the bandit’s approach and now he grins down at her as she stumbles and turns to keep him in front of her, locks her knees to avoid falling as she’s unable to fight back the surge of terror that rises in her throat. He reaches for her again, sword in his right hand, not meant to kill her but still very much present, and she feels the familiar feeling of power rush through her body. Every part of her practically saturated with power only moments before it lashes out in her defence and the bandit is thrown backwards across the muddy and ash-covered ground.

Shouts reach her ears, the world around her comes into focus for the first time since her mother’s death as she turns tail and runs for all she’s worth without even pausing to check if someone’s coming after her. Instinct tells her to run, to get away, and she wastes no time questioning it. Afterwards she’ll look back on that day with confusion – not aware of exactly what happened, what she did that caused the transformation – but in that moment as she hears the bandits running after her as she enters the forest, Merlin is aware of little more than a surge of power fuelled by her need to get away.

There’s a strange feeling filling her limbs for only the span of a moment before the world around her grows larger and she trips forward as her legs are suddenly far too short to run on. Her arms are tucked close to her body as she tumbles down a steep embankment and it’s pure luck that keeps her from colliding with the trees that flash past her eyes.

It feels like an eternity before she rolls to a stop, dizzily getting to her feet as she stretches her arms out and almost falls over again. It’s first then that her mind actually begins to register the changes to her body. Every part of her feels wrong, out of place, and her eyes see far more than she’s accustomed too. At her sides feather-clad appendages hang, and as she lifts them it’s quite evident that wings have now taken the place of her arms. She continues to look her body over with a surge of disbelief. She has thin clawed feet that belong to a raptor, long wings clad in dark brown feathers and behind her a feathered dark brown tail stretches out. She flexes her muscles experimentally, causing the feathers of her tail to fan out, and moves her wings in a few slow flaps before she turn her focus to her surroundings.

The bandits are gone, though she doesn’t know where, and the sun is falling in the distance. She spots a low branch on a nearby tree and considers the possibilities of her new appendages. Then, though apprehension makes her hesitate for a moment, she begins to flap her wings with determination and manages to get a few inches off of the ground before she crashes down again.

It takes several failed attempts before she gets the hang of it, learns just the right combination of strength to push off the ground and when she has to start flapping her wings, but she eventually manages to land on the branch. When she does so she has to dig her sharp claws in deep and bite down with her beak, but after a little while she manages to figure out just how to balance her body. A thrill of excitement runs through her when she looks back down at the ground, then she takes aim for another branch and throws herself into the air, her flight getting more secure with every movement.


	2. 690 AD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time doesn't have as much meaning to a bird.

**690 AD**

Time doesn’t have as much meaning to a bird. Merlin mourns in the weeks following the attack on her village, but her priorities are different now and instinct is what controls most of her actions. She learns to hunt like she learned to fly, in bursts of expended energy that leave her empty handed and tired most of the time. But as her flying gets better, so too does her hunting, and she begins to enjoy every part of the hunt as she learns the agile flight of a merlin. She finds it’s easier to strike from below than above, for neither birds nor flying insects tend to look down when they watch for danger, and she rises through the air faster than both. The first time she attempts to snatch a mouse off the ground she misjudges the distance and the rodents speed, and crashes into the ground centimetres after her prey.

It’s only been days since the village burned when she returns home. Except it isn’t her home any longer. The ruins of Ealdor are abandoned and bodies litter the ground – some she recognises, some she doesn’t, and yet others that couldn’t be recognised by anyone for they’re so badly burned. With magic she digs graves just outside the village, graves for all but the bandits who she lumps together in a pile and burns – more fire meant to cauterize the wounds in her heart. She marks every grave whose inhabitant she recognises and then spends a few moments by her mothers grave. It’s autumn now and no flowers can be found anywhere, but she cries and her tears leave intricate patterns in the stones she’s laid out to cover her mother’s last resting place.

When she leaves it’s with no intent of ever returning, but she’ll learn eventually that that’s not a part of her destiny she’ll be able to avoid. (She’ll be thankful she did then, but that day is still far off in her future.)

She flies from the forest near her home out onto the plains, hunts amongst the hills and valleys, and then finds another forest where hunting is plentiful. Blood is washed off claws and beak in the pouring rain, and when she finds a pool of water she studies her reflection curiously. There are no features on her face different from that of other merlin falcons except her golden eyes, and she idly wonders why they’re golden and not blue even as she begins to look for her next prey.


	3. 690 AD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy looks up at her with curious eyes when she gets closer, and she’s hard pressed to ignore the instinct to fly away as he pins her with his clear blue gaze.

**690 AD**

It’s been several months since the village burned when she next encounters humans, even if she’s hardly aware of how much time has passed. (Her birthday’s passed too, but she won’t realise that until snow begins to coat the ground.)

There’s a boy in the forest. He’s younger than her, and though he isn't smiling there’s no terror in his eyes. There will be, she knows that. He has the same gold light that she does, the one mother always wanted her to hide ( _because they'll hurt you, baby. They'll take you from me. You don't want to go away, do you?_ )

The boy looks up at her with curious eyes when she gets closer, and she’s hard pressed to ignore the instinct to fly away as he pins her with his clear blue gaze. 

(Is it wrong to envy him? she thinks, is it wrong to envy the boy with lights in his eyes who probably never really had a mother?)

The boy isn't alone in the forest though, he’s practically surrounded by people. But he isn't fussed over by a woman, he’s fussed over by a man. A man who ruffles his hair and helps him get food and puts an arm around his shoulders as they sit before the fire. She watches them with something like envy, with a gaping hole in her chest that her current shape allows her to ignore, and tilts her head curiously every time someone mutters foreign words and eyes flash gold below.

_Hello Emrys_ , the boy speaks into her mind, and her eyes jump to him immediately as her wings flare out and she takes off into the night before she can think better of it. Flees the camp, flees the forest and doesn’t stop until she’s put miles between herself and the boy who saw her. Doesn’t know what to do or what to think, though eventually curiosity takes precedence.

She returns to her perch days after leaving it. Fewer than is probably wise, but far more than her curiosity could ever abide by, though the boy is still there when she lands in the same tree as before. He’s repeating the strange words that the man with him speaks, though he falls silent when he spots her perching in the tree.

Merlin stills the moment their eyes meet, but she does not move except for cocking her head to the side when he speaks to her again. _My name is Mordred, this is Cerdan._ Her gaze flickers briefly to the grown man before returning to the druid boy. She doesn’t answer, doesn’t quite dare too, and after a few moments Mordred turns his gaze back to Cerdan and she settles in to watch.


End file.
